Homeschooling with eyeliner.

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Haters Gonna Hate

I follow a number of homeschooling blogs, and mostly they just serve to make me feel badly because I can’t get it together to post that much at all much less do it while educating my children so wonderfully. But hey. It’s good to have something to shoot for.

Maybe someday I’ll have opinions on things other than how Johnny Depp has aged and, oh, I don’t know, my hair or makeup or something.

Along with socialization. And wearing your pajamas all day. And not shaving your legs.

(Okay okay okay. So I’m typing this in a robe and I haven’t showered yet so there’s obviously been no shaving. BUT IT’S SUMMER. I’m ALLOWED.)

Because I tend to hang out with mostly Catholic people because of my involvement in my parish and so forth, that isn’t a question so I get so much.

I do get “why are you trying to protect them from the world? You can’t do that forever, you know!”

*crickets*

Yes. Thank you, Target check out lady. I was under the impression that taking care of children was like one extended pregnancy where I just shoved them back up my birth canal when things got too scary and mean for them. Should I not be doing that, you mean?

My kids are six and three. They are pure, perfect little souls that I have been given to get to Heaven. Their souls are ON ME. And we all know how I feel about my hair in the heat. Eternal damnation? Not what I’m gunning for.

So guess what? I will protect them from the evils of the world (and it exists- as C.S. Lewis said, “The devil’s greatest trick was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”) because THEY ARE MY CHILDREN. And I will bring them up in the religion I hold to be true. Because THEY ARE MY CHILDREN. I will also teach them to not run out in front of buses. Because THEY ARE MY CHILDREN. Same basic concept.

Somewhere along the line, in all of our desire for individuality, we forgot that parents are here to raise children. We protect them when they’re little. We give them a set of moral guidelines. That’s what we do.

We’re so obsessed with the “mommy wars” that we forgot to realize that it doesn’t matter one damn bit if I gave me son formula and had him circumcised or taught him baby sign language (yes yes and no) if he isn’t raised to be a good person and (I believe) enjoy eternal life with God.

Because one day, of course they’ll be grown up. I will not be telling them where to go, whose house they are allowed to play at, which shows are okay on Netflix. I will not be here saying the rosary with them and making sure they pray before every meal and go to Mass on Sundays. I won’t be explaining the Sacrament of Reconciliation by painstakingly detailing my own sins (some of them) so they understand what the point is and how it works.

They’ll be on their own. They’ll be making decisions about religious, ethical, sexual matters. The world will be telling them to act in a way that is contrary to the faith in which I have raised them.

(That is, if the world doesn’t implode immediately in November upon the announcement of a Trump or Clinton presidency.)

They will be in charge of all those decisions. I am not delusional. I know that I will not be standing next to my daughter the first time someone pressures her to have sex. (How awkward would that be?) But damn it, I am going to make sure that when she was mine? I gave her the tools she needed to make decisions that would honor her body, her God, and, yes, her parents too.